Memories and Feelings
by clair beaubien
Summary: RoboSam can't feel, but he can remember feeling. And those memories confuse him.


A/N 1: my apologies to anyone I've been e-chatting with who I haven't gotten back to lately. My 90 year old mother had a heart attack and is in the hospital awaiting placement at a long-term care facility. Not the best of times.

A/N 2: This story is a slightly AU added scene to finding out Sam had no soul. I didn't like Soulless Sam for a lot of reasons (I love ActionSam, but not SoullessSam) but I used him in this story to say some nice things about RealSam.

- SPN*SPN*SPN -

Sam was sitting on a hard chair in the middle of the motel room. He wasn't tied down, he wasn't under orders not to move. He could get up if wanted to, use the bathroom when he wanted to, get something to eat or drink if he felt like it.

But he didn't feel like it.

He didn't feel anything.

He had no soul.

That's what that feeling of not feeling anything was. Made sense, he supposed. A person who 'had soul' had empathy, right? So - no soul, no empathy.

No problem.

He could feel the cuts and bruises on his face that _Veritas_ and _Very-Pissed_ had left him with, but the pain wasn't emotional. It didn't hurt the way it used to - _before_ - when Dean turned on him for whatever reason in whatever fashion. Sam didn't feel _that _pain.

Dean was at the motel table, reading his father's journal, throwing heated glances at Sam every minute or less. He wasn't keeping guard, at least not in the '_keep you from running' _sense. At least Sam didn't think so. If this was '_before'_ - before the Cage, before Lucifer, before Lilith - Sam knew, or thought he knew, that Dean would be keeping guard over him in the '_keep you safe no matter what'_ sense. So that's what he was doing now.

At least that's what Sam thought Dean might be doing now.

He'd ask, but he didn't think he really cared.

He took in a deep breath and let it out again. Not in despair, not in aggravation, not in any emotion at all, unless needing a bigger breath of air was an emotion. But Dean looked at him over the top of the journal.

"We'll figure this out, Sam. We'll find a way to get your soul back without harming you."

_Sam could remember being comforted by that tone of authority in Dean's voice, could remember feeling that he'd been given something to hold onto. _

_Now, though, now it was just - confusing.  
_  
"Why?" He asked. "Why is it so important to get my soul back?"

"_Why?_" Dean asked back, like Sam had just asked him a really asinine question. Which, _before_, maybe he had. "To get you back to being you again."

"But _why?_ What good was I before? At least like this, I can hunt."

"You're kidding, right?" Dean didn't put the journal down, didn't lift his head from where he rested it on his hand, with his elbow on the table. "What was _good_ about you before? I know you can't feel, but you can't _remember_?"

"I _can_ remember." Sam said. _Before_, heprobably would've felt some irritation. "That's why I'm asking."

"Well, how about we start with you sacrificing yourself to hell to stop the Apocalypse and work our way backwards?"

"The Apocalypse that I started."

"After I broke the first seal."

_Sam remembered when Dean finally told him that he'd broken the first seal in hell. Dean had expected Sam to feel anger or disgust. But all Sam had felt was relief - again - that Dean was free of hell and they were together. _

_Now all that information was, was a piece to a puzzle they weren't putting together anymore. _

"You breaking the first seal doesn't erase or excuse my breaking the final seal. It didn't _compel_ me to kill Lilith."

Dean didn't have a comeback for that, though Sam thought he heard him mutter '_lawyer'_ bracketed between more colorful words.

"Somebody or something is out there with something that doesn't belong to them, and we're getting it back." Dean said.

Sam didn't ask Dean where they would put his soul if he didn't _want_ it back. He took in that deep breath again and let it out again.

Dean set the journal down and went to the fridge and pulled two beers out. He offered one to Sam.

"How's the face?" He asked.

_Sam remembered - before - when that would've been a monumental apology from Dean. At least all the apology he could expect. He remembered when he would've felt grateful for the interest. _

_He didn't feel anything now. _

"Doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does."

Sam shrugged.

"Not to me."

"I should've had Cas fix you up before he left."

"Didn't you ever get tired of it?" Sam asked. He knew it was an out of the blue question, but it was one that had been pricking at him for a long time. "Taking care of _Sammy_? Didn't you ever just wish he'd grow up and get off your back?"

"_Excuse me?"_ Dean asked back.

"_Sammy_. You've been taking care of him since you were – what? _Four_? Didn't you ever get tired of it? Want him to just take care of himself?"

"Sam can take care of himself just fine."

"Sure, with self-defense, and research, and verbal skills. But did he ever have an actual job? _No_. First your Dad supported you guys. Then you and your Dad supported Sam. Then Sam got a full ride to Stanford, which basically paid for everything for him. Once he was back on the road with you, you made all the money and always gave him half. I mean – what a leech."

"_Hey._" Dean's voice had the low growl of seriously pissed off. If Sam could feel anything, he might feel some trepidation. _"You don't get to talk about him like that."_

_Sam could remember feeling safe whenever Dean used that tone on anybody who made the mistake of messing with him. Since Senior High, Sam had been taller and wider and maybe even stronger than Dean, but he remembered feeling safe knowing that, no matter what, no matter how old or tall or strong, he'd always be Dean's little brother. _

_Now all that was, was something else he didn't quite get. _

Sam shrugged and swallowed some beer and shook his head.

"I know - he's your brother, and you love him, I suppose."

"Oh - you _suppose_?"

"I figure that's why you want him out of hell, because he's being tortured, and you want to save him from that. Just – sometimes I try to figure out what he ever brought to the partnership that was worth you going to hell for, or worth even wanting him back as a partner again."

Dean turned back to the table.

"We're done with this conversation."

"We wouldn't be done if you had an actual argument against what I'm saying." Sam said it as a statement of fact, not as a prod or an insult or anything at all. Just an observation. "I mean - when was the last time the guy cracked a joke? When was the last time you two had fun together?"

"Oh, you mean '_fun'_ like letting me get turned or lying to my face every day for months that nothing's wrong? That kind of fun?" Dean asked.

_Sam remembered when he'd call that that twist of not-a-physical-pain in his chest 'regret'._

"I mean you and _Sammy._ Does the guy even _know_ how to have fun?"

"Well, excuse me if trying to save the world doesn't leave much time for _hobbies_."

Sam shook his head in continued confusion.

"Why do you defend him so much? Why do you - why don't you just cut the strings and let him sink or swim for himself?"

"_Sam can 'swim' just fine."_ Dean said. He was obviously still pissed.

"No. He can't. What would he be without you? _Where_ would he be? What was he and where was he the four months you were in hell? Sure not with Bobby. Because even Bobby doesn't like having him around unless you're there."

"_Excuse me?"_

"Bobby. C'mon, even _you_ must realize Bobby only puts up with _Sammy_ because of you. Outside of you and hunting, they don't have one thing in common."

"I think some of your brain cells got left down in the Cage with your soul." Dean said. "In fact - most of them. Bobby loves Sam. Loves him like a son."

"No, he doesn't." Sam said. "He might tell you that he does, but - _does he?_ When you sold your soul, Bobby ripped you a new one, and when you went to hell, he spent four months drunk and in bottomless mourning. When Sammy decided to jump into hell, Bobby's the one who convinced you it was a good thing, and then not a week after it happened, he was back on the job like nothing had changed."

_Sam remembered being confused about how he'd come back from hell, and thinking that Bobby would be able to help him. He remembered being even more confused when all he got from Bobby was a guarded welcome and a perfunctory 'sorry I can't help.'_

"When I turned up on his doorstep last year, he knew something was wrong with me. But he just let me walk away again. He 'let' me convince him not to tell you I was back. How fast you think he would've gotten _Sammy_ out of domestic bliss if it was _you_ in trouble? How far you think he would've let _you_ walk off his porch? Not far."

Dean shook his head, his pissed-off look still in place.

"Bobby loves Sam." He said again. "He'd die for Sam."

"No, he wouldn't. When you put Sammy in the panic room the first time, you wanted him clean of the demon blood, even if it killed him. Bobby wanted him to go nuclear on Lilith, _even if it killed him_. When Sam said yes to Lucifer and everything seemed lost, you wanted to go all out and fight to the end and beyond, but Bobby just threw up his hands and said, 'Oh well, we tried.' He doesn't hate Sam, but he sure doesn't have any 'warm fuzzies' for him either."

"Yeah, well, Bobby's not a 'warm fuzzy' guy." Dean said. "Anyway, when you - when Sam - opened the Cage in the first place, Bobby told Sam that no matter what, he'd never throw him out. Seems to me if he had anything against Sam, he'd never have said that."

"He only said that so that you could rip Sam a new one." Sam said. He took another swallow of beer. "You're all that Sam has. You're all that Sam has had since your father died, and you know it and Bobby knows it. He knows that as mad as you'd get at Sam, you'd never let loose on him if you didn't think there was someone else he could turn to. So Bobby _gave_ him someone else to turn to so that you _could_ get just as angry as you wanted at Sam. He did that for you, not for Sam."

Dean was giving Sam a squinty, angry, really pissed look.

"Yeah, Bobby has different ways of interacting with us, because - _news flash_ - we're two different people. But we're both just as important to him."

Sam shook his head.

"You're Bobby's favorite, you know you are. You were your Dad's favorite. You're Castiel's favorite. Jo's favorite. Ellen's favorite even, once she knew Sam had opened the Cage. You were even _Heaven's_ favorite." He laughed and if he could feel anything, he might think it was a bitter laugh. "Beside you, all Sam ever had in his corner was absolute evil and good old _Gramps. _So all he ever really had is you. And I'm still trying to figure out _why._"

"There's no point explaining it to a guy who's not going to understand it." Dean said.

"If there's no objective reasons, then there's only subjective reasons. Which are only your opinions, which don't mean anything."

"You know what, Einstein? You're _asking_ me for my _opinions_, so I guess they mean something to _you_."

_Sam could remember what it felt like whenever Dean came out from behind his, 'who, me? I'm just a high school dropout' façade to make some important, brilliant point to some dumbass jerkwad. He could remember how gladly proud he would feel to be the brother of someone so smart and quick and insightful. _

_Now, it was just an argument that needed to be filled full of holes._

"I'm just trying to figure out why you'd keep him around, other than because it's your 'job'. Or because you didn't want to be alone. I mean what hasn't he F'd up? Why would you want him in the same hemisphere much less in your back pocket 24/7?"

"I keep him 'in my pocket' because when it comes to the family business, Sam's the best." Dean said it easily and emphatically.

"No. He's not. The guy never wanted back into the life until his girlfriend died. And even then, he was only planning to be in it until you killed the thing that killed her and your mother. Once he did sign onto the life again, permanently, how often was he a liability? How often did he hesitate? How often didn't he kill something he should have? The 'family business' is _hunting. _What part of that didn't he get? What part don't _you_ get?"

"The part that _you_ don't get, or that you don't remember. The family business is _saving people_, _before_ hunting things. That's what Sammy's good at."

"_Saving people_? He could've killed Yellow Eyes, but he didn't and your Dad ended up dying. He could've killed Jake at Cold Oak but he didn't and you went to hell. Your mother died because of him. His girlfriend died because of him. That's some track record of 'saving people.'"

"You're comparing apples to the worms in apples." Dean snapped. "Blaming Sam for deaths totally out of his hands. Maybe you could spend some of those brain cells thinking back to the first hunt he ever went on, or the last hunt that _he_ went on. Even _you_ can't count high enough to count all the lives Sam has saved. And you know what?"

Dean took a deep breath like he was going to launch into a tirade of epic proportions, but then his expression change to thoughtful.

"You're _jealous_." He said. He sounded surprised.

"No." Sam shrugged. "I can't be. I don't feel anything."

"Yes, you do. You _feel_, you just don't know what to _call_ what you feel. And let me tell you, pal - what you're feeling is jealousy."

"Jealous of _what?_" Sam challenged.

"I don't know. Jealous maybe that for all his flaws, Sammy is a better hunter than you."

Sam scoffed at that.

"He's a better hunter? I've killed more things in one year than he's killed in his whole life."

"That's not _hunting_, that's just _killing." _Dean said. "And believe me, I know the difference."

_Sam could remember the times Dean had reduced his view of himself to nothing more than a killer. He could remember how his own heart would break to know that Dean thought so spitefully of himself. _

_Now, he was confused that Dean would consider being a killer as something less. As a bad way to be._

"Are you a better _killer_ than he is?" Dean went on. "Sure. But nobody is a better _hunter_. And believe me - I know that, too."

Sam only shrugged. Hunt, kill, as long as the bad guy ended up dead, did it really matter?

"You'd do anything to get him back, wouldn't you?" He asked Dean. "You'd sell your soul again, to get Sammy back."

"If I had to." Dean answered with no hesitation, not even a blink. "I'd do anything to get him back and keep him safe. And it's not guilt and it's not because I have to. I _want _to. I _want_ to have Sam back, 100% all in one piece. Sammy keeps me human. When I've been so close to becoming _you _that I thought I'd never make it back, Sam always pulls me back.

"Yeah, he's made mistakes, but so have I. _More_ mistakes than he has. He's strong - stronger than you even. You're part and parcel of Sam and all this time he's been strong enough to hold _you_ back. He's smart and he's fast and he's compassionate like nobody else I ever met, and he's saved more people than I can count because of it. I want him back with me because he's funny and annoying and he watches my back whether or not I deserve it. I want him back - I _need_ him back - because without him, I turn into _you_, and Sammy expects better from me. And I don't like disappointing him."

_Sam could remember feeling proud and humbled and embarrassed and oh-so-grateful those times that Dean would launch an attack on his decaying self-worth and single-handedly haul him back from the edge of emotional oblivion. He remembered feeling that if Dean thought he was worth so much, some part of him still had to be salvageable. He remembered not caring that he wasn't anybody's favorite because Dean deserved to be people's favorite, and if he was Dean's favorite, that's all he needed. He could remember feeling that as long as Dean still wanted to be his big brother, he had to still be worth something. _

_Now all it was, was wondering if Dean was right when he said,_

"Sam and I never had much, but we _always _had each other. Maybe _that's_ what you're jealous of."

the end.


End file.
